


Crowley goes to the U.S.

by Kaci



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: mostly Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaci/pseuds/Kaci
Summary: Crowley carries out a scheme in the United States in an attempt to get the head office off his back.





	Crowley goes to the U.S.

Crowley adjusted his black satin bow tie and took one last look at himself in the mirror. He was quite satisfied with the long tail tuxedo. Shorter coats were in fashion now, but the length accentuated his slender height and changed the feel of the outfit from monkey suit to quite dashing. Some would say the black dress shirt was improper, but he was a demon after all, and it looked damned good on him. The solid black suit combined with the ever-so-slightly steampunk sunglasses would help create the impression of a genius eccentric. And if he happened to inspire a bit of lust along the way, that was all to the good…bad…whatever.

The head office had finally checked up on some of his memos, and Crowley was now under pressure to deliver. He wasn’t in trouble for lying per se; that was just to be expected. But having gotten caught, he now had to back up his boasts or face the consequences. Since discorporation would mean a long, crowded stay in Hell, he had opted instead for violin lessons and a cunning plan. Case in hand, he transferred himself to the platform of the MARTA Red Line in Atlanta.

The next train brought him within sight of his target, Jonathan Kelley, second chair violin in the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra[1]. Kelley thought he should be first chair by now and was quite bitter about the perceived slight. He was extremely proud of his virtuosity yet slightly contemptuous of his audiences. And he had a rapacious appetite for the finer things in life, but little interest in the finest things, such as affection, and wonder, and grace. Crowley really needed to stop thinking along those lines; the angel was a dangerous influence. The point was, the man should be susceptible to Crowley’s ploy.

Crowley made a show of looking around the crowded train car before sitting down by Kelley. He feigned interest in arranging his belongings for a moment, then pretended to be surprised by his seatmate. “Oh my! It’s Jonathan Kelley, isn’t it? Oh dear, it would be so embarrassing if I’m wrong. But no, I’ve seen your picture in the paper, it is you!”

Kelley shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, that’s me. Jonathan Kelley, Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.”

“Right, right, second chair violin if I’m not mistaken?” A compliment for almost anyone else, but a pointed barb for Kelley. Crowley needed him worked up for his plan to succeed.

“Indeed,” Kelley said stiffly.

“What an amazing coincidence! I actually play myself.” Crowley raised his violin case an inch or so off the floor. “I’m actually headed to a gig right now[2]. I’m a freelancer, don’t have a steady position like you. Here’s my card[3], maybe you’ll hear about another opportunity and think of me. Though I don’t know if a regular spot would suit me. I think there’s so much more scope for learning and improvising when you aren’t tied to someone else’s program, you know?” 

"The discipline of being part of a large orchestra is its own education,” Kelley replied, his voice hitting just the note of contempt Crowley was aiming for.

“Of course, of course, no offense intended. I probably wouldn’t get as many gigs without my secret weapon.” Crowley opened the case and produced a certificate of authenticity verifying that his violin was a genuine Stradivarius, dating from 1666, which would make it one of the very first[4]. As he handed it to Kelley to peruse, he watched for the signs of envy that would indicate it was time to strike.

“Very impressive,” Kelley said flatly.

“Say, I have a marvelous idea!” Crowley blustered. “Let’s find out whether the instrument or the player is more important – a friendly wager, if you will. We’ll get off in front of the symphony hall and see who plays the best. If you win, I’ll give you my violin.”

If Kelley had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that there had to be a catch, but between his irritation, his pride, and his envy, rationality was drowned out. “What’s the forfeit if I lose?” he asked.

“Oh, just your soul,” Crowley chuckled.

“Is that all?” Kelley laughed. He held out his hand to shake. “I accept the bet, and I’ll be going home with your violin.”

When they arrived in front of the symphony hall, Crowley announced that he would play first. After applying rosin and testing the tune of his instrument, he launched into a haunting tune that evoked a combination of Night on Bald Mountain, Danse Macabre, and Dream of a Witches Sabbath all at once. Naturally, a crowd gathered to listen, and they murmured appreciatively during the performance and burst into applause at the end.[5]

Kelley nodded coldy as Crowley finished. “I can see that your talent is enough to keep you in those freelance gigs you enjoy.” Though the crowd cheered as Kelley prepared his instrument, he gave them no acknowledgment. His playing, though, surpassed anything he had done before. He ran through a series of complex pieces from memory, taking his listeners through an emotional tapestry of danger and tension and resolving it with melodies that brought up idyllic images of comfort and home. As the last notes played, the onlookers fell silent, many in tears.[6]

Crowley kicked at the ground in frustration. It was clear from the audience reaction that claiming he had won the bet would only embarrass him. “I see you are a true genius,” he said, “and I am a man of my word[7]. This instrument now belongs to you.[8] Only, I do have a performance tonight, so perhaps I could borrow yours for the evening? You do have my card.[9]”

Back on the train, Crowley grumbled to himself. “He shouldn’t have been that good. I should have won…Aziraphale!” 

“Yes, Crowley?” said a familiar voice from the seat behind him.

“Did you thwart my plan?”

“I may have performed a small miracle,” Aziraphale admitted. “He’s an excellent violinist, but it was hardly sporting to expect him to hold his own against a supernatural creature.”

“Wasn’t s’posed to be sporting. Was s’posed to keep me out of trouble with the head office.”

“Well I couldn’t very well let you trick that poor man into gambling away his soul.”

“Poor man, hmph, you wouldn’t say that if you what he was like inside.”

“The fact that I do know what he’s like inside is precisely why I say it,” Aziraphale reproached him. “But you can take some comfort in the fact that your facsimile is far inferior to the violin he lent you for your…engagement. I assume you were not, in fact, planning to return it?”

Crowley just stared at the angel through his sunglasses.

“Right, didn’t think so. This will be a good lesson for him. I’ll see that his instrument finds its way back to him when he’s learned some humility. And I suppose you can enjoy the fact that he’ll suffer until then.”

“Won’t be able to enjoy much if I’m discorporated,” Crowley grumped.

“Hmm, yes, that is a bit of a pickle. You can lay low in my bookshop for a few days if you like. I daresay they’ll forget about it soon enough.”

“Guess that’ll do. Lunch?”

“The Ritz?”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - I just made up the name for this story. I have no idea who the actual second chair violist of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra is, but I'm sure they're a very nice person.
> 
> 2 - This was not entirely false, just not true in the way that Jonathan Kelley would assume.
> 
> 3 - Crowley thought the cards were a particularly nice touch to his persona. They said simply "Anthony J. Crowley, violinist" but neglected to include any contact information. They had an abstract black and white design that evoked both the flow of music and a subliminal feeling of existential dread.
> 
> 4 - The very earliest violins may not have been Stradivari's best, but Crowley couldn't resist claiming it was made in a year ending with 666.
> 
> 5 - They also all nightmares for the next week.
> 
> 6 - Nope, sorry, they still had nightmares.
> 
> 7 - Of course he was no such thing.
> 
> 8 - With apologies to the Charlie Daniels Band for this whole thing :-)
> 
> 9 - Which, recall, had no actual contact information.


End file.
